


Dating Advice

by chii



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>York hadn't expected Wash to take the advice he'd given, not really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> sobs. i'm still getting the hang of posting this stuff so if this formatting is the ugliest thing you've ever seen, i am so sorry. 8( 
> 
> anyway, everyone already probably knows about my huge boner for carolina/york so i'll just leave that alone for now. :)

When Wash comes up to him, York doesn’t expect much. For the most part, Wash is quiet, personable, but it’s late enough he’s surprised that the guy does, and sits next to him, like he’s got something to say.

“…Okay, man, out with it,” York laughs, bumping his shoulder against Wash’s with a little grin, giving him a raised eyebrow. No one does something like that without a reason, and he has a feeling it’s nothing terribly simple.

Wash doesn’t say anything at first though. How does he? It’s not like he can just go out with it right there, because York’ll laugh him out of the room in the most well-meaning way possible, but still.

God, this was just a stupid idea. He stands up with a heavy sigh, shaking his head, lips in a thin line. “Don’t worry about it, forgot what it was. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

He’s all set to go, all the way up until York grabs his arm, and really, by the end of it, all he can think is how much that asshole owes him.

 

 

“Connie!”

She turns around when he catches up to her, and Wash slows his jogging, matching his pace with hers, his hands in his pockets, just watching her with a little dorky grin, disregarding the way she just gives him this narrow-eyed look, suspicious.

“…Ease up, I’m not—”

“What do you want, Wash, I have things to do.”

“I— you know. Just wanted to say it’s a good day for weather.” No. That’s not— “I mean uh. A good weather da—”

Connie turns down the next hall with a sigh and a shake of her head, leaving Wash to watch her go.

 

The next time he tries it’s with York’s instruction and the assurance that no, this totally works on any girl.

Connie’s reading in a corner away from everyone else like she normally does, and he stands next to her, clearing his throat awkwardly, pleased that she doesn’t just shut him down like she did last time.

“That shirt’s very becoming on y—” he starts, and watches her stand up, giving him a thin-lipped look, pushing her book into his chest and walking off, making him a solid two for two right now.

 

Maybe York just isn’t giving him the right ones with the right starts. Maybe that’s it. He goes to York again, and comes back with a different set, not sure if it’s really gonna work.

 

 

They’re on mission in two hours and it’s not the time to do this, but damnit, he wants to all the same and he meets her in the gear room, grabbing his guns, doing prelim check-ups and glancing over at her.

“What is it, Wash?” Connie asks, barely looking at him, stripping her gun and working on the individual pieces, hair hanging in her eyes.

“Can I have your number? I lost mine.”

( this one always works, dude. )

The look she gives him could make paint flake, but she just huffs out a sigh, puts her gun together and scribbles something down on a piece of paper, shoving it into his hand on her way out.

“Didn’t think that anyone could lose the commlink number, Wash, but there — good job.”

She’s gone before he has a chance to tell her that’s not what I meant.

 

“Do you come here often?”

Connie just looks at him, disbelieving, like she can’t understand why he’s saying something so retarded, and by the way his expression changes, he realizes it too.

“…Yeah, uh. Never mind.”

 

 

It’s after a meeting she finally lets him talk, and it’s only because they’ve been sitting in companionable silence this whole time, shoulders barely touching. It’s stupid, really, but it’s comfortable, and the couch isn’t all that big so the room is limited, but neither of them seem to mind.

It’s not a surprise to her, though, when he finally shifts his weight a little, and inhales, but doesn’t say anything.

“Come on.”

“…Why didn’t they call you Tennessee?” he asks finally, and the look she gives him is just as bad as the last one, only worse, when she smiles that patronizing little smiles she gets when he’d defended the Director.

“What?”

“You’re — it makes sense, right? You’re a ten and I—”

To be fair, the timing is probably the worst there’s ever been, because that furious look she gives him makes him realize that meeting they just got out of knocked her down out from 10 and Tennessee took her place. 

you’re a moron.

“Wait, Connie, that’s not what I—”

To be fair, he’s almost expecting the black eye she gives him, her knuckles slamming into him and he takes two sharp steps back, hissing. It’s nothing as bad as he’s had, but it still hurts like a bitch, and maybe it’s a little deserved, maybe not.

“That’s not what I meant,” he tries, and gets as far as reaching out before she punches him in his nose for good measure, too, and he takes the hint, tipping his head back and going to find some goddamn ice.

 

 

See, the thing about it is that he just hadn’t realized that Wash was really using them. He hadn’t. It wasn’t like he was trying to set him up for failure, he thought the poor bastard was kidding and — Jesus, was anyone really that dumb? ( Apparently, yes. )

York drags his hand over his face with a sigh, just looking at Wash for a long moment, before shaking his head.

“What! You gave these to me!” Wash practically shrieks, swinging a hand out, gesturing wildly. “I trusted you, man! None of these worked!”

…Well. Somehow, he has the feeling that, yeah, I was joking! isn’t going to be an option to say right now, when Wash’s face looks like someone beat him up.

He’s gotten this far. Can’t get any worse.

“I’m telling you, man, that last one works.”

The look Wash gives him is utterly disbelieving, his hands jammed in his pocket, that stubborn tilt to his jaw, half embarrassed— York can tell, and he feels a little bad, but the words slip out before he can ever hold it back.

“C’mere, Wash, okay, I’ll prove it works.”

He remembers the one that gave Wash the black eye and the bloody nose, of course, and he drags him off to the room down the hall, half-laughing when Wash’s feet almost stumble when he realizes where they’re going. At least that much is still a secret, then.

“…York, you don’t have to do this.”

Yeah, he’s gonna owe him after this, if Wash thinks that he’s sacrificing himself for the greater good or whatever, but right now, it’s too hilarious for words. He places Wash right behind the corner and tells him to stand right there, out of sight, and heads up to her door, knocking four times, grinning when she opens it.

“…What are you doing here?” Carolina drags a hand through her hair, squinting at him with a little frown, the door barely open, but enough for Wash to see. It’s late— she has a early morning meeting which is why she’s sleeping, and York is suicidal, Wash is certain of it.

“Why didn’t they name you Tennessee, sweetheart?” York starts, and Wash grips the wall, already ready to go get the ice for York’s black eye, because if CT had responded this badly, then Carolina was going to punch him through a wall.

“—York, cut the bull—”

“I mean, you’re the only ten I see here, sugar, it only makes sense.”

Wash braces.

And waits.

And watches.

And Carolina just. Doesn’t punch him. She looks at him, that patiently irritated look that she gets when one of them says something utterly retarded, and then jerks a hand in York’s shirt ( here it comes— ) and then just drags him in the door, slamming it shut behind them, leaving Wash staring at the closed door, wondering how the fuck he got a black eye for his trouble and York got dragged into the boss’ room.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, the idea that York and Carolina would ever fight just hadn't ever occurred to Wash.

Weeks later, and Wash is still without any luck on Connie. He half blames York just because he can, but mostly he just blames himself, and pushes it out of sight, out of mind, because they have other things to worry about. Once the missions hit a lull, though, he starts noticing things-- not things relating to Connie, but to York, to Carolina, and it takes a moment to realize what everything means.   
  
“You're  _ fighting _ ,” he says in disbelief one night, weeks later, just staring at a tired, startlingly cranky York, his hair sticking up every direction. “You're-- _ you're fighting _ .”   
  
Somehow, he hadn’t imagined that Carolina and York ever could-- or would, for that matter, fight. They always worked well together, in every aspect, either on the field or off, and so the prospect of them fighting is just  _ weird _ .    
  
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, mommy and daddy will be just fine,” York mutters, dragging a hand over his face, giving Wash a sour look for all the disbelief, munching on a cookie rather than saying anything else.    
  
Some small part of him is still so shocked he doesn’t even respond to the baiting, he just leans in, eyebrows furrowed, trying to figure out....well, how York fucked up badly enough that he’s in his own room, when Wash is pretty goddamn sure that the only use York’s room has most of the time is for storing his stash of hidden booze, and his clothes.    
  
The idea of payback is one he briefly considers, but mostly he’s just too interested in exactly what happened to prompt this reaction, when it comes down to it.  It comes out, of course, over the course of a few beers and the two of them talking, and really, Wash thinks it’s probably the stupidest thing  he’s  ever heard, and he’s heard a lot of goddamn stupid things. Still, York looks miserable enough that it’s probably payback enough just making him talk about this, which prompts him to lean in close, frowning further.    
  
“...What.”    
  
“You need to -- I don’t know. Woo her or something.”    
  
York looks at him patiently, like he’s the most retarded person this side of the Director’s pretentiously named ship, and props his chin up on his hand, raising one eyebrow.    
  
“Woo her.”    
  
“....Yes.”    
  
_ “ Woo Carolina .”  _   
  
Wash sounds a little less certain when York says it like that, because, well. Carolina. One does not woo her. (Unless you’re York, apparently, and even then it’s not a sure thing.)    
  
“...Yeeeah.”    
  
“ Woo. _Carolina_ ,” York repeats, just in case Wash is deaf or dumb or some godawful mix of the both, and really,  really wants to shove Wash off the bar-stool when he sees that smug, self-righteous look on the man’s face.    
  
“Well, you  could keep doing what you’re going. After all, I think the pawing at her door like a kicked puppy is really working well on her,” Wash offers cheerfully, smiling over the rim of his beer, and is all too pleased when York actually listens when he offers his advice, this time around.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
Women love flowers.   
  
The sky is blue.    
  
Wash knows these things- they’re just obvious, really, which is why he shows up post-mission, taking pity on York and bringing him a bouquet of flowers, waiting at his door with a half-scowl on his face. York was still locked down after the last mission, kept on-site while the implantation process was started, which left  Wash to go do the legwork in return for a twelve-pack of the    
booze that York was storing under his mattress.    
  
“ _ Answer the door _ _,_ ” Wash calls, knocking a little harder, scowling and tapping his foot as he waits for York to get his lazy ass up, only to hear footsteps down the hall, turning abruptly, heart sinking when he sees Connie heading down, just  _ looking _ at him, then the flowers, then York’s door. “Connie, I-- _they’re not for him_!”   
  
“...I don’t want to know,” she mutters, shaking her head and attempting to walk past him, and he’s sorry, York, it’s a breach of the bro-code, but--    
  
Wash reaches out and tries to shove them at her, nearly smacking her in the face with them, standing all the straighter, shoulders square, looking anywhere but at her. “They’re for--”    
  
Of  course she gets paged just as soon as he says anything, and she gives him a little half-shrug before gingerly taking the flowers with the most uncertain look ever, vanishing down the hall before he can say anything, leaving York to answer it a moment later, yawning.    
  
“...Hey, where are the flowers?” York asks, and Wash just presses his hands into his face.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“You suck at this,” Wash mutters over dinner in the mess hall, not missing the way York rolls his good eye.    
  
“I know.”    
  
“I thought you were supposed to be good with girls or something.”    
  
“ I _know_ .”    
  
People mill around behind them, and York buries his face in his hands with a heavy sigh.    
  
_ “I’m  supposed to be _ , it’s just--” God, how does he even explain this? “It’s just like-- Carolina’s some kind of mutant girl okay--”    
  
“York.”    
  
He presses on, on a roll now and not stopping. “I mean, seriously, I’ve tried apologizing and she nearly broke my nose. She’s a mutant girl, like almost as mean as Tex but--”    
  
“ _ York _ .”    
  
“--like diet Tex, dude. She’s like diet Tex, and-- Wash, what the hell is that face?”    
  
Wash doesn’t say a word, he just stares behind York, eyes wide. “Hi, boss,” he says gingerly, and makes a quick escape just in time to hear York’s “H-Hey, sweetheart.”    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
“So cook her something.”    
  
“You know, I’m not quite sure you’re the person I should take advice from, Dave,” York mutters, mashing keys on the gaming system that Idaho had brought in, hooking it up to the monitors in the lounge.    
  
“Hey! From here, it seems like I’m doing better than you!” Not really true, but that’s neither here nor there.    
  
York tilts his head, and Wash already has a feeling he knows what he’s going to say, his look souring in response. “That why you gave Connie flowers she was allergic to? How’s that going, anyway, huh?”    
  
He entirely deserves the book tossed at his head, all things considered, and Wash vows not to help him with anything else, stealing the controller and settling down in front of the monitor with a faint scowl.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It’s a sad state of affairs when York goes to people like Wyoming and North and Maine for help, but that’s all he can do, and they’re all just about as helpful as Wash is, really, which is to say they  _ aren’t helpful in the slightest.  _   
  
Wash watches for a little while, before going to the only person he can think of who might have any idea what’s going on, even if he’s pretty sure that this is the dumbest thing he’s ever done.    
  
“...everyone knows they’re fighting,” Connie says, shrugging it off, organizing her books. “Don’t see why you’re so interested. Is this about the flowers for York?”    
  
“ T _he flowers weren’t for York!_ _”_ he hisses, throwing his hands up and tossing himself in the nearest chair, scowling at her, pretending like he doesn’t see that mocking little twist to her lips. “Besides. You’re the only person I can think of who’d know what’s going on.”    
  
Connie pretends like she doesn’t feel some little flare of satisfaction at that, and it’s  apparently the right thing to say, because she sits across from him, and lays it out. York was always the softer of the two, and had just  _ assumed _ things, and everyone already knew Carolina didn’t take well to assumptions  or things outside of policy, and so the mix of the two hadn’t gone well in the slightest. When all is said and done, Wash just stares, alternately not sure how she worked out that answer from everything, and ho _w_ _ he didn’t pick up on that. _   
  
“...It was obvious,” Connie says with a shrug, curling her legs up to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. “You just need to watch people.”    
  
  
  
  
  
  
By the time he’s got it figured out, though, evidently York has too, because he makes his way into the other man’s room, fully not expecting anyone to even be in there, but finding Carolina bent over holograms and plans for a mission, and York standing behind her, rubbing her shoulders as she works, two cups of coffee next to them.    
  
“...wrong room,” Wash says in a rush, and closes the door before either of them can say anything to him, circling back on out and on his way, running into Connie on the way, unsurprised when she just raises her eyebrows.    
  
“They made up?” she asks, and Wash doesn’t even  ask how she knows, he just follows her to the mess hall with a sigh.     
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He waits until the door closes before leaning against her back, resting his chin on top of her head, and just enjoying the moment, for once- enjoying that they’re not fighting. Carolina doesn’t shove him off, doesn’t bitch about it, she just goes back to work with a little nudge that he understands, and he goes back to work on the knots in her shoulder, thumbs working them out.    
  
“Sooo, does saying sorry count?” York asks after a moment, grinning when he hears the heavy sigh and feels her lean back into him, which is a good enough answer for him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /trudges through posting old stuff, doop doop doop.


End file.
